


Autoclave

by whittackers



Series: Make-believe [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Coma, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-14 19:35:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14143059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whittackers/pseuds/whittackers
Summary: Enjolras waits by a hospital bed.





	Autoclave

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote about 7K of Enjolras's POV of paper moon before I realised that it wasn't going to work :/  
> But I kind of liked the start so...  
> 

_"You don't value my time, or my beliefs!"_

_"They're spoons, Enjolras!"_

_"They're NOT JUST SPOONS! "_

_Besides, it wasn't just about the spoons. It was the bowls too. And it wasn't the first time he had asked._

_Grantaire was always nesting the bowls too close in the dishwasher, so they didn't get cleaned properly, and Enjolras would end up having to restack the dishwasher or wash them by hand, which was such an infuriating waste of his time - time he could have spent planning for the protest today, or doing some extra pro bono work for one of his clients, and instead he would have to spend it on dishes, when all Grantaire had to do was just listen to him, and stack the dishwasher properly._

_Enjolras threw down his dishtowel and stepped closer, so he could look Grantaire in the eye to say "This is important to me, and you don't even care. You want me to waste time on housework so I'll have less time to help people, I know it!"_

_"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Who does most of the housework around here, anyway? It isn't you, Monsieur At Work 'Till Midnight!"_

_Enjolras stepped even closer to him, gearing up for his response, when he happened to see the clock on the oven behind Grantaire's shoulder._

_"We're late." He never should have let their arguing get this far - they hadn't fought like this in ages -  but he was stressed out of his mind lately, and R wasn't making things any easier. "Let's just go, we'll talk about this later." Enjolras stepped back, turning to find his bag._

_Grantaire looked as if he wasn't going to back down, but he ended up taking one shaking breath, and muttering a "Fine."_

_Enjolras didn't look behind him as he walked out of the house, didn't wait by the door to see if he was following as he made his way to the train station. They rode the train together in silence, not looking at each other--_

 

"Enjolras? Enjolras."

Enjolras looked up, snapped out of his memory.

Combeferre was standing next to him. Enjolras had to twist in his chair to look up at him.

He was back in the present, but it didn't feel like reality. His brain was too disordered for that, a mess of fog where thoughts would flit through occasionally - phrases like 'cranial pressure,' 'induced coma,' 'should wake up,' and the image of Grantaire lying cold, alone, and unconscious in that alleyway. Grantaire's hand lay limp, his eyes closed, but still, his heart made itself known: the steady, slow beep of the monitor thrummed into Enjolras's consciousness. 

Combeferre had to repeat his words once more before Enjolras was able to catch them.

"Courf's going to take you to get some food."

Enjolras hadn't even noticed Courfeyrac, standing by the doorway, his face carefully blank.

"I can't leave-"

"I'll stay here with him."

Enjolras hadn't eaten for over eighteen hours, and the thought of food made his stomach churn, nausea painting his insides. But, he knew, he needed to stay strong. That meant he had to eat.

"OK."

Enjolras barely remembered the trip down to the hospital cafeteria. The next thing he knew he was sitting across from Courfeyrac, a cup of bad coffee going cold in front of him and a half-eaten croissant Enjolras was pulling apart with his fingers.

"He's going to be okay." Courfeyrac said.

Enjolras hummed, the words barely registering, as he continued to tear up his pastry. His thoughts were drifting away again.

 

***

 

Before, Enjolras would lie awake at night, worrying about how much he loved his life.

He knew it was paradoxical, but still, knowing that hadn't helped. He hadn't been able to stop stressing:

You couldn't work as a lawyer and not notice that life didn't work this way. People didn't get to be this happy. He was certain it was only a matter of time before something would go wrong, and he would lose everything.

When Grantaire had noticed, and Enjolras was finally coaxed into admitting what was worrying him, Grantaire had teased him about it. Wasn't he the one who was supposed to be the cynic? After that, on the nights Enjolras couldn't sleep, Grantaire would roll over and wrap him in his arms, and give him something better to think about.

But still, the thoughts lingered, somewhere deep, irrational, but present.

Enjolras would tell him 'I told you so,' if Grantaire could have heard it.

 

***

 

Yesterday morning, before the protest, before their fight, Grantaire had woken him up like he always did - with a kiss to his forehead and a cup of coffee. He always got up before him, and Enjolras had tried to pull him back to bed before he had remembered the protest was today, and he still had to edit his speech. It felt like a lifetime ago. Someone else's life.

The scrape of his chair ran out across the cafeteria as he stood up. "The blinds- I have to-"

"Enjolras?"

He waited for Courfeyrac to get up, not sure if he could find the way back to Grantaire's room alone. When they reached it he strode for the window, opening the blinds, the light that was just beginning to touch the sky spilling softly into the room.

Grantaire always woke with the sun.

He sat down again in the chair Combeferre had vacated, his hand slipping into Grantaire's. He was relieved to find his hand warm, still shaken by how cold it had been when Enjolras had found him after the accident.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac shared a look between them, but Enjolras didn't notice. His eyes were only on his husband.

Distantly, his pocket buzzed.


End file.
